Oh boy, magic
by lewismcyt
Summary: Time to have fun with harry potter and friends hahaha
1. Chapter 1: Obliviate

Vernon Dursley was the proud wife of Petunia Dursley, and the Dursleys were proud to say that they were as normal as can be. Their son, Dudley Dursley, was about the greatest son anyone could have, at least to them. The only thing they wanted to forget about their bloodline and family, the 'thing' that they hated more than anything, is Petunia's sister, Lily Potter. This was because Lily was a magician.

Of course, they didn't have reason to think about them very often, and would never expect to become enthralled in their issues again. On this sunny Tuesday, Vernon Dursley was on his commute to work. He was the director of Grunnings, a firm specializing in drills. He thought about nothing but drills, trying to ignore the strangely dressed people on the streets, in cloaks and peacock-feather hats. He had never been one for fashion, and he had always hated the fashion icons young people idolized so much, no matter how crazy they were.

They weren't just going about their day, however. In fact, they seemed to be gathering around and conversing with each other. One young man wearing an ugly black cloak was looking quite nervous while talking to another young man with similar get-up, while some older men and one woman were standing close together and whispering to each other. They must be part of some kind of cult or group, Vernon figured, and he had never been one for cults or groups.

His office was, thankfully, quiet and relatively secluded, letting him concentrate while he made angry phone calls and filled out paperwork. Those on the streets saw the owls in the sky, the loud bangs, and laughter from the strangely-dressed men. But Vernon has never been one for any of that, and he sat in his office until lunch break, when he went to buy a pasty from the nearby bakery. This ruined his good mood, however, as on his way he saw the same people he had thought earlier were part of a religion or group gossiping excitedly to themselves. Eyeing them but at the same time trying not to think about them, he quickly purchased something surely delicious from the bakery. Walking back, he caught them saying something quietly. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard, yes, their son, Harry,".

He wondered whether he should keep listening or run away, as he was more frightened than he had ever been before. He decided to run away, but before he could follow up on that notion, he heard one of them pronouncedly exclaim "He'll be a celebrity one day, Harry Potter will!". He was closer than he thought to the group, and before Vernon could react, a man with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes turned to him, seemingly noticing Vernon Dursley's eavesdropping. Vernon got a closer look at him, noticing he was wearing a blue pointed hat, and the same colour robes, all matching his eyes.

Before he could react, the man, who judging by the way everyone else looked at him seemed to be the most popular of the group, spoke. "My, my! Are you a wizard too?". Vernon spluttered, and it seemed like the man already knew what his answer would be, but Vernon succinctly explained he was not a wizard, stuttering and scared like a sizzling spherical subject. "_Obliviate!_" the man shouted excitedly, and Vernon Dursley forgot everything he knew about magic.


	2. Chapter 2: The Zoo

It had almost ten years since Harry Potter had arrived at the doorstep of number 4, Privet Drive. Petunia Dursley had told Vernon Dursley that she received a letter a few days later, explaining that Lily and James Potter had been killed by a man with a very odd name, and describing Harry Potter as wondrous and magical. To Vernon Dursley, nothing could be more wrong.

"Up! Get up!" Petunia said, in a shrill voice. Harry immediately awoke. "Up! Awake! Come out!" she continued. Harry heard her walking, and then the sound of something metallic being put onto the stove. He rolled onto his eyes and thought about his dream. It had probably been a dream about cheese - he had those dreams a lot.

"Are you up yet?" shouted Petunia from the kitchen. "Nearly, Aunt Petunia," Harry shouted back. "Get a move on! You're looking after the bacon, and don't you dare let it burn on Duddy's birthday." Harry sighed. He had completely forgotten that Dudley's birthday was on Sunday. He pulled a pair of socks on, after cleansing it of spiders. He was used to spiders since he slept in the cupboard under the stairs.

After he finished his dressing, he journeyed on to the kitchen. The table could barely hold under Dudley's birthday presents, including three televisions, a PlayStation 4, and a punching bag. Harry didn't see why Dudley needed a punching bag since he already had one in the form of Harry, but perhaps he wanted one easier to catch. Harry was faster than he looked, and he looked quite skinny and short for his age. He was a mess, with black hair and blue eyes, and his glasses were held together with tape thanks to Dudley. He even had a lightning bolt scar, serving as a sad reminder of his parent's death in a car crash, according to Petunia. Petunia didn't want Harry to ask questions.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen and ignored Harry, who was turning over the bacon. He usually insisted that Harry combed his hair, but by now he seemed to know this was a pointless effort.

Harry barely managed to fit the plates of eggs, bacon, and spam on the table, while Dudley was counting his presents. "Thirty-eight!" he exclaimed, happily. "That's two more than last year!"

Petunia, delighted at his son, corrected his counting. "Oh, don't forget about Auntie Marge's present, under this big one." "Alright, thirty-nine then," said Dudley, his face dark purple with greed. Harry, who didn't want to see Dudley too pleased, quickly wolfed down his green eggs and ham. "And for being such a good boy this year, we'll buy you two more presents while we're on the trip. How's that, popkin?"

Suddenly, Harry remembered that Dudley was going on a trip out for his birthday like he always did. He went to the cinemas, theatres, arcades, restaurants, and zoos While Vernon was commending Dudley, the phone rang, and Petunia went to answer it. Harry watched Dudley unwrap the punching bag, a PlayStation Four, two HD televisions, a remote control drone, a Steam gift card, a golden wristwatch, and a portable hoverboard.

Petunia came back looking quite agitated. "Terrible news," she started. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." It was as if she didn't want to say Harry's name. Dudley was shocked, but Harry felt frenzied. Usually, Harry was left with Mrs. Figg, a woman dressed in pink who was crazy for cats like nobody else. He hated it there, but at least it was better than being at the Dursleys'.

"What will we do?" said Petunia. She looked at Harry, and he worried that she might start to suspect that he broke Mrs. Figg's leg. "We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested. "Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates him." "Well, then who? We can't just leave him here, he'd burn down the ruddy house!" Dudley looked as though he feared for his life. "We could just take him to the zoo and leave him in the car..." suggested Petunia hopefully.

"That car's new..." he groaned. "But I suppose it's our only option."

The doorbell rang suddenly, and Petunia ran to the door frantically. One of Dudley's friends, who Harry didn't know the name of, stepped into the house with his mother, who Harry knew as Quondia Polkiss.

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Dudley and his friend. He would've rather been as Mrs. Figg's, and he highly doubted his uncle actually believed he would burn the house down (he didn't know how if he'd wanted to). But instead, he had to sit in the hot, smelly car, while everyone else was at the zoo and eating ice cream.

When they arrived, the Dursleys got out and made sure the car was locked, as if they thought Harry was going to try to run away. At least Harry was used to confining spaces, he thought, as he tried to relax in the car seat and wondered how to open the windows. In the end, he managed to relax by self-reflecting on his miserable life. For ten whole years, ever since he was a baby, he had lived with the Dursleys. He wondered how his parents were when he was alive.

Sometimes it seemed like people recognized him. One man in a violet cloak had shaken his hand and said something like "Thank you, Harry Potter! For defeating Lord Voldemort and saving wizardkind!". Harry figured the man was joking, or part of some kind of cult, but then he wondered how the man knew his name. After all, Harry had never been one for cults. Maybe the reason that the Dursleys hated Harry's parents so much was that they had done something the Dursleys didn't like. Still, Harry didn't remember ever defeating someone named Lord Moldemort or whatever he was called.

When the Dursleys came back, Harry was surprised to see they were already driving back to their house. Apparently, they had already done whatever else they usually do without needing to drive somewhere else. Indeed, it had felt like only moments ago Vernon had checked to see if the doors were locked.

When they arrived back at their place of living, Harry had hard-boiled cabbage for tea and proceeded into the dusty cupboard under the stairs.

Little did Harry Potter realize that soon, dear reader, amazing things would be happening to him.


	3. Chapter 3: The Two Letters

Harry Potter hated Dudley Dursley. Dudley Dursley hated Harry Potter. That was how things worked. Unfortunately for Harry, he lacked the physical strength and the numbers of Dudley's gang. Quondia's son, Colin Creevey, Dennis Malcolm, and Gordon Edgley were all fat and stupid, and Dudley was the smartest of them all, of course making him the leader. None of them had any sympathy for Harry, and would all grow up to be great psychos one day. And despite school being over, they came round every day for sleepovers, which Harry had never been one for.

Harry went to Smeltings, the school where he learned how to break legs. Dudley, on the other hand, worked a part-time job at Grunnings, where all the gang members were made.

Mrs. Figg had, for some reason, had not talked to the Dursleys after initially telling them that her leg had been broken. In fact, they had received no communication from her at all.

One day, Harry was collecting the mail, like he always did. There were five letters: a postcard from Colin Creevey, who was on vacation in Spain, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, one brown and one red letter addressed to Harry, and - a letter addressed to next door.

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. Why was it sent to this house? Had the postman messed up, and delivered it to the wrong address? That must be it, he decided. But how could he have messed it up so badly, when it seemed so clearly written there could be no mistake:

_Mrs. Nymphadora Malcolm_

_6 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

He decided to simply hand out the letters like normal, and give Vernon the letter addressed to Nymphadora, hoping he didn't get angry at him. "Hurry up!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for exploding letters?" he said, and then chuckled for no clear reason.

Harry went back to the kitchen, and then suddenly he realized that he had received two letters, something overshadowed by the letter from his neighbor. Once he had given Dudley the postcard, and Vernon the bill and misaddressed letter, he opened the red letter.

Suddenly, the envelope started floating and seemingly began to speak.

"Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received a report of a physical assault on Arabella Figg on July 22nd that is directly linked to you. The Ministry believes that you may have attacked Arabella Figg and possibly permanently damaged her left leg.

Normally, the severity of this crime would mean a court summons at the very minimum. However, a special request by Albus Dumbledore means action will be postponed until we can obtain testimony from Mrs. Figg.

Please be careful with your future endeavors, and bear in mind that legal action may be taken at a future point. This should be treated as an official warning from the Ministry.

Yours sincerely,

Malasada Popkink

Magical Law Enforcement"

Vernon's face was frozen throughout the whole message. Harry was dumbfounded as the red envelope dropped back into his hands. Petunia was visibly scared, and Vernon screamed. Harry had the brown envelope in his hand but was still trying to process what the talking letter had just said. Somehow, this Malasada Popkink had sent a talking letter warning him for assaulting Mrs. Figg. And she was part of the "Magical Law Enforcement", like the police.

Suddenly, Petunia grabbed the brown envelope from Harry and showed it to Vernon, who looked like he might faint. Nobody had any words for the situation.

"Get out, both of you," winced Vernon, and Dudley, who seemed to have been forgotten about, ran out of the room. "I'd like to read that letter," started Harry, but before he could continue, Vernon took him by the scruff of his neck and threw him into the hall, slamming and locking the kitchen door behind them. Dudley was in his bedroom, quivering, so Harry was free to eavesdrop.

"I-it was the boy who broke Mrs. Figg's leg. H-Harry. The letter was... enchanted. By one of them," said Petunia, struggling to breathe.

"O-one of them? What do you mean, one of them? That letter just talked!" said Uncle Vernon, concerned for his own health.

"My sister's lot," said Petunia succinctly.

"Your sister's lot? Your sister and her friends were crazy, but they weren't magic!"

"B-but... they were." Harry was confused. He knew, after all, that there was no such thing as magic. That's what Petunia had always told him.

"There's no such thing as magic!" responded Vernon, parroting what Petunia had told Harry on many occasions.

"D...don't be silly. We've talked about this." Petunia, who seemed to have calmed down a bit, sighed. Suddenly, Vernon collapsed.

That evening, Petunia angrily told Harry that he would have to move into Dudley's second bedroom. The Dursley's house had twelve bedrooms, and three of them belonged to Dudley. Harry was happier in there than in the cupboard - not that that meant much, for that matter. Almost everything was broke. The month-old supercomputer was lying on top of a military-grade tank Dudley had once murdered the next door neighbor's dog with; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set and gaming chair, which he had broken when he heard his favourite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a baby that Dudley had swapped at school for a real shotgun, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were mostly untouched. Harry could barely hear the faint voices of his aunts and uncles from the kitchen downstairs.

Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it. Of course, he'd rather both be up here and with the brown letter. He pondered what the talking letter had meant. Unfortunately, Harry had never been particularly bright.

Next morning, everyone was very quiet. Both Vernon and Petunia were in shock from yesterday, what with the talking letter. They exchanged dark looks over breakfast. Even Dudley, who was normally quite antagonistic, had nothing to say over dinner. Harry was just wishing he had opened the brown letter first. As a wise man or woman once said, hindsight is 20/20.

When the mail arrived, Vernon made sure to have Dudley go and get it, to his annoyance. "Look! There's another one! Addressed to Harry! 'Harry James Potter, 4 Pri -'"

Suddenly, Vernon ran down the hall, Harry not thinking to intervene. After about a minute of confused, non-verbal fighting, Vernon had Harry's brown letter clutched in his hand.

The next day, Vernon himself collected the mail. This time, Vernon collected thirteen letters and teared them up before Harry's eyes. Vernon didn't go to work today, but rather stayed at home and nailed up both the mail slot and the cat flap. Harry wondered how he was hoping to receive any other important mail, despite Petunia's insistence that it was a good idea.

On Tuesday, no less than twelve letters had been sent. They were posted under the door, through the windows, and even sent down the chimney, where they were easily taken care of by fire. Vernon burned them all.

That Friday, the confused milkman had handed Petunia two dozen eggs through the window. They were contained in such a way that she couldn't see them until the milkman went, but when she realized that she hadn't received milk, but eggs, she was furious. They also had brown letters rolled-up in them, which were blended into a smoothie and then drank by Harry for dinner. Dudley was in awe.

On Saturday evening, Vernon sat down for breakfast looking tired and energized, but happy. As it turned out, he had turned the house into an impenetrable fortress, making sure nothing could get in or out.

He was clearly cheerful as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, like a lunatic. "No post tomorr-"

Something came whizzing down the chimney and somehow caught him painfully on the back of the head. In a single visceral instant, hundreds of letters started pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked behind the sofa, but Harry tried to catch one. Vernon seized him around the waist and threw him into the hall. Petunia and Dudley ran out with their arms over their faces, and Vernon slammed the living room door shut.

"That does it!" said Vernon, utterly failing at sounding calm. "I want you all back here in five minutes, and ready to leave. No arguments!"

More than five minutes later, they wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors, somehow, and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. It was a full moon, and nobody knew where Vernon was going. Dudley was howling like a wolf.

At last, Vernon stopped, outside a leisurely but not-so-popular hotel on the outskirts of a big city that Petunia knew as her sister's birthplace. Harry couldn't sleep, though Dudley snored like a wolf. Harry wasn't one for snoring.

They had a fancy hotel breakfast the next day. They had finished just in time before the owner of the hotel came to attack their table. Her accent was incomprehensible.

"'''Scuse me, 'ut 's 'ne Poterr? O'I got a 'undred o' thes'e." She held up a letter, and the address was clearly written:

_Harry James Potter_

_Room 7_

_Railview Hotel_

_Cokeworth_

Before Harry had a chance to grab the letter, Vernon snatched it. He stood up quickly and followed the disgruntled owner out of the dining room.

Hours later, Vernon was back on the road, driving somewhere. Nobody, except perhaps Vernon, had any idea where he was going. "Shouldn't we just go home, dear?" suggested Petunia, though Vernon, who is half-deaf when driving, didn't hear. Multiple times, including in the middle of a suspension bridge, inside of a large house, and on the beach, Vernon got out, shook his head, and got back in.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley rhetorically asked Petunia. Vernon had parked them in the middle of the ocean, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared. "It's Monday," he snivelled like a snake. This reminded Harry that it was his birthday tomorrow, not that he had any reason to get excited. He would only be turning fifteen.

When Vernon returned, he led everyone out, excited. It was very cold, but Vernon pointed at what looked like a large rock with a hut on top. The cable connection was probably quite bad.

A toothless old Squib came ambling up to them, singing insanely "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily. Life is but a dream."

"I've got us some elf rations," said Vernon, "so choo choo!" He was acting extraordinarily silly.

It was freezing, and icy rain crept down their neck as a chilly wind whipped them dominantly. After what was probably hours they reached their rock, where Vernon, slipping, sizzling and sliding, led the way down to the house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled worse than Dudley, and the wind was still attacking them while the fireplace was not lit. There was only one room.

As it turned out, Vernon's rations were ten packs of bread, some sausage rolls and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps. Vernon tried to start a fire, but he just smoked and shrivelled up. He was still in a cheerful mood, obviously thinking nobody, magic or otherwise, could possibly reach him during the full moon. Harry silently agreed.

Hours passed. Petunia managed to find some moldy blankets and made a 'bed' for Dudley. Harry couldn't sleep, no matter how tired he felt. Luckily, he had gotten some sleep on the car journey anyway.

There were five minutes until Harry's birthday. Harry heard something creak, and he hoped the roof didn't fall in. Four minutes. He wondered when they would get back to Privet Drive, if ever.

Three minutes. Was that really the sea, slapping the rock. And (that observation somehow took another minute) what was that crunching noise? Was that the rock succumbing to the pressure and sinking?

One minute until his birthday. Fifty-nine seconds...fifty-eight... fifty-seven... Harry had stopped counting at this point.

BOOM. The whole shack shook and Harry sat upright, staring. Someone was outside, either knocking to come in or trying to knock down the house.


End file.
